Young Writers Society

Author's note: This is, of course, not my final draft. I'm hoping to improve this piece before I dive into the real bloodbath.

There it is. That’s the cornucopia—a giant, golden bell that looks like it had been detached from an equally humongous French Horn. There are tons of goodies inside, but it’d be impossible to pick one. Or get anywhere near it for that matter.

As I glance at the other tributes, my stomach growls. Urgh. And now they’re laughing at me! In order to cover up that embarrassing moment, I try visually sifting through the cornucopia’s gaping mouth. Some of the things seem useless, really. A foot-long rope? What is anyone supposed to do with that? And that Aladdin-looking lamp at the top of the pile looks too rusty to hold anything of value.

The clock keeps ticking; twenty seconds left until I probably die. How lovely that I should depart on an empty stomach. It’s almost not even worth trying for the cornucopia. Well, it would be if it weren’t for the gross-looking swamp environment. There’s so much humidity that the water vapor itself could probably render all the electronics of district three unusable. Not to mention that bogs lack tasty things to eat; if there’s food in the “horn of plenty”, I probably want some. Of course, there’s still the blood and death part...

There are five seconds left. Four… urgh, gotta make up my mind. To go, or not to go? That is the question.

A thundering, bass crash pulses under my feet, and not a moment later, the harsh sound of a gong fills my ears. Time to decide. I hurtle towards the cornucopia, willing to risk it all.

Of course, I’m not fast enough to get first pick. Blood spatters on my new tribute uniform from every direction, filling my nose with the scent of metal. Lovely smell if we’re talking computers, but oh-so-gross out here.

Even with all the braining nearby, I manage to clamber into the cornucopia’s mouth. Surprisingly enough, the floors aren’t slippery.

There isn’t much left. As my gaze darts between the remaining prizes and the other tributes, I try to pick the best of the lot. There is a Shih-Tzu puppy, which seems like an entirely useless thing to have—a white elephant gift, I suppose. The spare foot of rope I had spotted still lay on the ground nearby, and if I had to guess, it was probably from the puppy’s makeshift leash. A package labeled ‘invisibility cloak’ that is damp with something other than blood is also left here. There’s got to be a reason for that though, and the puppy’s fake, innocent stare makes me wonder if… eww. I shouldn’t think about that.

Lastly, and not really to my surprise, the lamp-thing is still here. The side is covered in blood, which covers any etchings that might provide clues to what's inside, but I pick it up anyways and flee as other tributes’ projectile weapons fly mere inches away from my body. I wonder if coming to the cornucopia was worth it; what if this lamp turns out as useless as a Shih-Tzu puppy? Or as gross as an invisibility cloak that had been peed on by said puppy?

Well, what’s done is done. I have to keep running, if only to stave off death a little longer.

Once I’ve worn myself out—believe me, running through mud is hard—I find a mostly dry log to sit on while I examine my prize. Made of unpolished brass, it is fairly malleable, and not good for hitting people. The lid is stuck, so I sniff the pipe opening to figure out what’s inside, and pungent spices tickle my nose. I’m not sure whether that’s yummy or disgusting.

The blood on the sides still bother me though, and even if they help camouflage the brass, it’s still the inhibiting factor between me and knowledge of what’s inside this lamp. With a corner of my uniform, I start wiping it off, completely unaware of the little, humanoid hologram that pops out of the lid.

“Hello,” says a distinctly feminine voice. I do not pay attention. “Hello? Excuse me, are you there?” I keep rubbing the lamp. “Alright, I really don’t want to do this, since it will bring other tributes to your location but-” the hologram cups her hands to her mouth and yells, "hello!"

Finally, I look up, confused by the sudden yelling. Where is the tribute who was yelling at me? Why aren’t I dead yet?

“Down here, please!”

I look down and immediately drop the lamp, holding in a scream. Why would anyone in their right mind put a hologram in an old-fashioned oil lamp? Beyond crazy, really.

“Now then, since I have alerted you to my existence, what is your wish? I can grant any wish relating to food, but only one. Then, my purpose as a food genie will be fulfilled.” I’m not sure how, but the blue-ish hologram has moved itself to project from the bloody side. There must be an accelerometer inside.

“May I ask for more wishes?” Of course that is the first thing out of my mouth. The more food, the better.

“No.”

I shrug. “Eh, didn’t expect I could. I don’t have to make the wish now, right?” There are so many great possibilities in my mind, like flooding a group of people with a river of curry, or setting traps to lure people in. Thinking about it just makes me giddy! Not to mention they all involve food that can still be eaten later. Probably.

The hologram nods. “Of course you may rain-check the wish. Good day then.”

I grin, watching as my food genie flickers away. This is going to be fun.